


This Arrangment

by TheRookieKing412



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24500803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRookieKing412/pseuds/TheRookieKing412
Summary: 1. By the age of twenty-one, a young woman was expected to be matched and married.2. After five years, a child must be produced or the marriage will be drawn into question.3. Few may be exempt from the matchmaker, and specifications may be made to suit 1) the family, 2) the bride, 3) the husband.4. Applications not required by law.5. But who would want to take the risk?6. A quick arrangement may be requested if one member of the arranged is unexpectedly found ill, dead, in a coma, etc.
Relationships: Ahiru | Duck/Fakir (Princess Tutu)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90





	This Arrangment

She wasn’t happy, he could tell.

And it wasn’t as if her happiness was a rare occurrence.

He had seen her smile, her eyes lighting up, just the day before.The week before. Back, even, when he barely knew her. 

Today there was nothing but a deep gloom that clung to her like an early mist, despite the fact that she looked like a goddess, that she looked splendid, that white suited her more than he cared to admit. No, of course she wouldn’t be happy, on today of all days. 

On her- on his…

He understood - and he knew it wasn’t his fault - he refused to hold it against her. Someone else was supposed to be standing here with her, exchanging everlasting vows and golden bands. 

He had never made plans this momentous, his only goal in life was to write, which gave him some leeway. 

He was able to escape the matchmaker and the arrangements because he was an artist. She, however, was bound to someone since the day she was born, her standing and the nobility that ran through her veins insured that she would.

At twenty one. 

Now, nearly a month after her twenty first birthday, she was marrying him. 

He slipped the ring onto her finger, her hands felt limp and dead. 

Someone else was supposed to be giving her this ring.

He looked to the heavens, hoping his mother would be proud, he was only doing this for her. 

They were announced man and wife, she slapped on a bright smile - reminding him to, as well - as they faced the crowd that stood and applauded their new life together.

He found a flute of champagne in his hand, an hour into the reception, and he was already looking for a way out. Was it too soon to leave? The guests had just finished eating. 

Someone stood in the back and tapped a watch, he looked at the large, ornate clock mounted on the wall. 

He held out his hand to her.

“Fakir.” She said, uncertainly, he was sure she was about to ask to skip this part.  _ Can’t we? No one will ever know.  _ But a waltz began to play and all eyes were on them. 

The waltz was simple, and he supposed if she married who she was supposed to, she would have been led through a grand waltz, smiling and enjoying herself. 

It would have been fine except for the fact that she was so short, too short even. They never would have been partnered together, his hand resting on her rib cage rather than her waist. Her hand on the label of his jacket rather than his shoulder. 

She kept her eyes glued to his chest. 

She threw her bouquet, he rooted around under her skirts until he pulled off the garter and threw it. He regretted to admit that her thigh was soft, and quivered when his teeth took hold of the lace, his lips brushing against her flesh. 

The father-daughter dance was skipped, as well as the mother-son. 

Most guests had left - lucky - leaving only family and friends, people who knew the reality and truth of this marriage. 

That it was unwanted.

Raetsel kisses him farewell, leaving with Hans, casting a forlorn look Charon's way. 

Charon claps his shoulder and whispers “Be gentle” in Fakir’s ear.

A woman he knew to be Edel patted his young bride’s cheek. 

Then, very awkwardly, they left the reception room and walked to the hotel’s elevator. 

Their clothes, luggage, toiletries, had been placed in their room. The room where they would be staying for two weeks. The room where they were supposed to consummate their marriage. 

They stood in the elevator, silent, as it carried them to the top floor. 

He could see her out of the corner of his eye, though he dared not look at her directly. Her chest was heaving, like her heart was pounding and she simply couldn’t get enough air, as if she was frightened of some-

Ah.

Of course.

Mytho she had known since childhood, and had loved since she knew what the concept of love was. He, however, was a stranger, who accepted the hasty request and need for a groom with little consideration, a man she barely knew and was sure would take everything he wanted from her, leaving her a husk of what she used to be.

He wouldn’t lie, he saw her beauty and everything that she was, but he wasn’t a monster. Not like his grandfather. Not the man who took a young bride, late in his forties, when he got the notion he should sire some heirs to his fortune.

No, he wasn’t like his grandfather, not at all. 

“Ahiru.” He called out to her, as softly as he could, but she still jumped out of her skin. “Nothing has to happen tonight.” 

“But- but it’s expected of us and-and one day, one day…” 

Five years. In five years, no matter what, they would have to produce a child. 

Had she married Mytho, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but she was scared tonight.

Scared of the man who stood next to her in the elevator and answered her guardian’s desperate plea. Looking back, he had accepted rather soon, someone would say he was eager and rash, snatching her up as soon as the opportunity showed itself. He would be scared too, if he was young and naive, in love with somebody else.

“We have five years to work it out, tonight I- I won’t force you to do anything you dislike or find displeasing.” 

He watched out of the corner of his eye as her breathing slowed, she had paled when he addressed her, but now color was returning to her cheeks.

The elevator opened.

The perks of marrying a rich girl.

The top room was a penthouse, the elevator opening into a large sitting room, a warm fire had been started. She walked out uncertainly, and he followed. 

“If you don’t want me, I can sleep on the couch, or in another room.” He was sure there were plenty, a place like this, a room this large didn’t constrain itself to one room.

He walked over to a window, excepting the city skyline, instead he saw a small courtyard, with a pool, windows on the other side looking into more rooms. Christ, what had he gotten himself into? 

“No, it’s- I can at least manage that.” 

He went through a similar routine, one he partook every night, the only difference was that someone was there to witness it.

“Fakir?” 

He had changed into pajamas, and when he looked over his shoulder, she was still in her dress.

It was beautiful, probably the one she had picked out since she was five. It was simple, no rhinestones or embellishments, the single scrap of lace he had ripped off with his teeth. It flowed around her, accenting her slight curves, the bodice pushing up her small breasts. 

She looked like a princess. 

“I can’t-“ her cheeks flushed and she turned away.

He understood, he grew up with Raetsel, who struggled with the zippers of dresses.

Ahiru turned her back to him, only it wasn’t a zipper, it was a long line of buttons that traveled down her back. 

He went as quickly as he could, but it still took time, and every button he undid revealed herself to him more and more, he never would have known that the freckles that dusted her nose and the tops of her shoulders traveled down her back as well. 

Soon she was holding the top part of the dress in her hands and thanking him.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face. 

It was edging close to midnight, and his eyelids were falling. He sat on the edge of the bed, however, thinking it might be rude not to wait for her to be ready, too.

She called out to him again, asking to close his eyes, he turned to her, the beginning of a question on his tongue, but he stopped short when he saw her and obediently screwed his eyes shut.

“I’m- I’m sorry, my friends helped me pack- they-they didn’t.” 

He didn’t need to have his eyes open to know she was blushing red. 

“It’s fine.”

He was facing away, so he let his eyes open, only denying her request because when he had his eye closed he would only see her in the night clothes she wore. 

It was short and silky, a pale, powdery blue, a short slit up her left thigh, edged in thin lace. Her hair had been down as well, although he wasn’t sure why that little detail mattered to him. 

“We’ll buy you real pajamas tomorrow.” He promised.

She didn’t say anything, but he felt her slip into the bed beside him. 

He lied down and turned off the lamp on his nightstand, the bed big enough that the probability of them touching was slim, even if they both spread out.

He was damned, and cursed, because by morning he found himself tangled up with her. An arm underneath her shoulder, the other around her waist, her leg tucked between his, her head on his shoulder, tucked under his chin, her hand clawing at his chest. 

She looked peaceful, laying there, in his arms, fast asleep, her lashes fanned out against her cheek, her lips parted slightly, with every breath her small chest rubbed against his, and he was a fool, but he raised his hand and brushed her hair behind her ear. 

He did his best to unravel himself - as much as she clung to him, he wasn’t completely blameless - without waking her. 

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment and he froze, but she didn’t wake, and that was just as well.

Now he stood beside the bed, the morning light streaming in through the window, and he would give anything to die on the spot. 

Her legs looked as soft as he remembered them feeling, delicately posed on white sheets, the hem on her nightgown had edged higher, the neckline skewed, dipping down, the gown dangerously close to being almost pointless. 

Her hair was long, as long as he remembered it being before the wedding, but it had always been in a bun or a low swinging braid, now it spread out across his pillow. Before he never understood the obsession men had with the length of a woman’s hair. Short or long, it was her choice, and now as he looked at her, he was sure that whatever length her hair was would have been beautiful on her. To him, it was a pleasing sight.

The next two weeks went by quickly, she would go swimming in their secret pool, and he would write, she would bake something in the kitchen, and he would write, she would go out to town - only after asking him if he would like to join her, and him politely declining - and he would write.

One day, she peered over his shoulder and asked him what he was working on.

A novel.

Oh.

The housing was sorted for them already, something small, a cottage by a lake, it was an expensive piece of real estate, but it was already bought in full. So she reassured.

He wondered why she needed to marry so quickly when she was already well taken care of, but then he remembered that was not the point of marriage. 

They said goodbye to their hotel and left. 

Almost immediately, she received a call. 

She was cut off in the middle of every sentence, and every minute she spent on the phone was another shade brighter she turned.

Someone helped them load everything into their trunk, and they were off. 

She was still turning bright red, and whoever she was talking with was incredibly rude, she was still unsuccessful in getting in a full sentence.

She held the phone with her left hand, the ring glinting in the light, it made him look at his own, posed on the steering wheel.

It wasn’t common, but it had been his father’s. He hoped he was honoring his father with this marriage. This… arrangement.

He drove forward, into the rest of his life, with his pretty wife, still scared of him

* * *

She didn’t understand, not when she received the news that Mytho had been in an accident. That after a year of waiting, she was told it was unlikely he would ever wake up again. That their arrangement would be canceled and she would have to marry someone else.

She cried into Pique’s shoulder after Miss. Edel told Ahiru that she would be making a special request to the matchmaker, that she would still marry after she turned twenty one.

She resisted the urge to protest.  _ I don’t want to marry anyone! I don’t want to marry anyone besides Mytho!  _

But that was impossible, besides, she would be twenty one in less than six months, who would agree to such a quick arrangement?

She woke up alone more often than she would have liked, but she would sit up and rub her eye wondering for a moment where he had gone, before remembering she wasn’t waking to Mytho but to Fakir.

She brought her knees to her chest. 

Fakir.

He was an artist, which technically meant he didn’t have to be in any arrangement. Legally, he was allowed to choose and marry for love.

The idea being that an artist could find, fall in love with, and marry their muse so they could keep on making works for forever. He was already twenty five, some would consider that too old to be placed in an arrangement, despite the fact that Mytho was twenty four. 

He was a writer, like his father, and his father's father. It was almost expected of him. 

She knew this because their families had been close.

Had been. 

Technically, all three of their families had been close.

It was a complicated history, one she didn’t know too well herself, but the gist of it was-

“Ahiru, do you want breakfast?”

He knocked on the door jam, looking at her with those scathing eyes, they softened as soon as they landed on her, but she had seen his glare, directed at the laptop he was writing on; whenever something challenged him.

His brows lowering over his eyes, eyes that were already cold and unfeeling, his mouth was set in a hard line. 

Like a statue, like an ill tempered god that was striking down a young maiden for angering him. 

But he never looked at her like that. For which she was grateful; she waited for the day he would turn those eyes on her, that glare.

She smiled and told him no thank you. 

He shook his head, muttering under his breath about how she’d waste away one day.

She wondered if he would have agreed to marrying her if he had seen her before saying yes. She wondered if he wanted a woman that had… more than she did. 

Like Rue.

Her friends kept asking her how he was in bed, if he was good, if he was really good, if he was big. 

She should have known by now, and she felt guilty for not giving him anything after three months of marriage.

_ Men have needs, needs that need to be taken care off, and it’s the wife’s job to take care of those needs.  _ Miss. Edel’s voice rang in her ear, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t give herself to Fakir. Not when he loomed over her like a monster, not when she was still so afraid. 

No, not afraid, heartbroken… and a little afraid. 

Even after all this time, she still wanted to wait for Mytho, still felt as if she had abandoned him. What if he woke up? What if she gave herself to Fakir, and Mytho woke up? What if Mytho woke up and he never forgave her for not waiting.

_ I didn’t have a choice!  _

She should have ran away, she should have taken the bag Pique packed for her honeymoon and ran away, she could go by a different name, cut her hair, get a real job, then as soon as she got word about Mytho…

Ahiru cried a lot as a married woman, more than she thought most married women did. 

* * *

She cried a lot. 

In the shower, when she thought the music she played and the beating of the shower covered her, in bed after she was sure her husband was asleep, when he was outside and she didn’t think about whether or not they had soundproof walls.

It worried him, and more than anything he wanted to comfort her, but that would be a mistake. Despite the fact that he still woke up wrapped around her, and she in him; awake she shied from his touch. 

To even try would be a mistake, it would make it worse, he was sure. 

He asked Raetsel what to do, how to handle it. 

“She doesn’t even know you, much less why you married her, she was arranged to another man since childhood, and Aunty said she was looking forward to it. She was crushed when she learned she had to marry yo- someone else, and so quickly, too. She had no time to grieve.” Raetsel paused. “I was scared of Hans at first as well.”

Fakir wanted to tell her that was impossible, Hans and Raetsel loved each other greatly, they had a child produced in their second year, but he had nearly forgotten.

Charon.

For all her life, she had hoped she would be arranged to marry Charon, the difference in their age having never bothered her. 

She looked about as happy as Ahiru had on their wedding day when Hans placed the ring on her finger. 

Now they loved each other.

“He got me gifts, flowers, made me dinner, massaged my feet, anything I asked him to do. I warmed up to him eventually.” She chuckled and Fakir got the feeling she didn’t just mean they became good friends. They did have a son, after all. “Be kind to her.”

“I am.”

“It’s not enough.”

He nodded, even though Raetsel couldn’t see him over the phone. “I- I’ll try.”

“Start out small. I’ll talk later, Karon’s waking up from his nap.”

Fakir started small. He made dinner and did the dishes, telling her he was fine with it, he made her whatever she asked, anything she didn’t want to do, he did for her. 

She still cried herself to sleep.

He bought her flowers, and chocolates, jewelry, and clothes, anything she may be lacking. 

He could still hear her sobs over the shower spray.

He made small talk, asking about the two friends she had, about her childhood, her old and new dreams. 

She still… 

She still cried and cried and cried, no matter what he did, and for a while it was frustrating. He wanted to give up, and leave her in her depression, let it swallow her whole. 

Until November came. 

He didn’t celebrate his birthday, but Charon and Raetsel still sent gifts and cake.

“It’s your birthday?” Ahiru asked, a pretty blush settling over her cheeks. “I-I had no idea…”

“It’s alright, I didn’t tell you.” 

She nodded, eyeing his gifts. “Open them.” She smiled pleasantly and sat down at the kitchen table with him.

Raetsel, Hans and Karon had sent him three new novels, one was a classic, one was a book he already had but had been destroyed by constant reading, and one that was a freshly published story.

“Oh I love this one.” She picked up the replacement. “Have you read it?”

She smiled sweetly, and he wanted so badly for this moment to last, for them to be like this, where she didn’t seem scared of him.

He told her the purpose of the gift.

“I won’t throw the old one out, but I get too worried about destroying it to reread it.”

Then he opened Charon’s gift, and everything fell apart there.

It was a honey scotch, imported from Scotland, one hundred years old. 

Ahiru got visibly uncomfortable. 

“I won’t drink it.”

“N-no it’s not that, I just haven’t-“

He looked up at her. He wondered how many other things she hadn’t experienced yet. 

“Would you like to try?”

One poured shot over a short glass of ice quickly turned to two, and then three, four, five, six.

It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but for her, who never so much as had a drop of alcohol in her life, was hammered. 

Utterly wasted.

She asked for another, but he wouldn’t let her, she’d overdose on alcohol poisoning. He wondered if she had actually liked the taste of scotch, or if she was running from something.

She told him she was retiring, and rose from the table, but her knees buckled under her as soon as she did. He was quick to catch her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, another under her knees, he lifted her up and held her to his chest.

Her head nestled into the nook of his neck, her breath warm on his skin.

She muttered something under her breath before she pressed her lips to the base of his throat. 

He closed his eyes, stopping in the middle of a hallway. 

Her hands wound around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair, she lifted herself up to kiss his jaw, and he shuddered because it was the most action he had ever received in his life. 

“Ahiru.” He called out her name, his voice straining. “Ahiru, stop. You’ll regret this tomorrow.”

“Sleep with me.”

He grit his teeth and kept walking, he deposited her on their bed, he took off her shoes and her belt, batting her hands away.

“Mytho.”

He stopped dead cold. She didn’t even want him, she thought he was Mytho.

“He’s not here.”

“I want you, Mytho.”

He covered her with blankets. “Good night.”

Fakir slept on the couch that night, wondering what it would sound like if she desperately called out his name like that. 

* * *

A year had passed, and tonight was their wedding anniversary.

She got many calls from friends and what little family she had left, congratulating her and asking if she had any happy news to share.

The limit was five years, but sometimes a wife would still get pregnant in the first year. She didn’t confirm or deny if she was expecting, but it made her blush nonetheless.

Mostly because she had started having dreams.

It wasn’t her fault, and yes, any question regarding her and Fakir’s sex life left her blushing, but she now it was different, because now she had an accurate definition of what that would be like. 

Sort of.

She had been cleaning, moving about the house with her earphones in. The office door was closed, so Fakir was in there, writing, and she wasn’t to bother him, not that she ever would. 

She was looking for a cleaner, one she knew she kept under the sink in the bathroom. She hummed along with the song that played, walking into her bedroom and opening the bathroom door without knocking, without thinking.

And of course that’s when Fakir stepped out of the shower.

Naked and dripping wet, she screamed and he slipped, she slammed the door shut.

Her heart pounded as she leaned against the door. 

She had never-

Never  _ ever- _

In an instant, thoughts entered her mind, thoughts she had only ever had about Mytho, only these thoughts came over her like a flood, and went farther than her mind had ever dared wander.

Suddenly she was naked under him, his eyes, dark and sultry - she had never considered them sultry before - were on her, only her, filled with what could only be described as lust. 

Suddenly, she was on top of him, her back straight, his hands on her thighs, his eyes on her once more.

She was laying on her back again, but she didn’t see Fakir, until she looked down and saw his head between her legs, his eyes dark and smoldering.

She blinked and shook her head, what did grandma say? No, no bun in the oven. 

She couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. Not without the visions haunting her.

But soon, she didn’t have to look at him, soon he was invading her sleep.

The mind was a wonderful and powerful thing. Still virgin white, her mind concocted what it would  _ feel _ like. 

His lips on her neck, his teeth, sucking and leaving marks. 

A deep, throaty moan in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. 

His fingers grazing over her skin, hot and making goose flesh. 

Her mind had taken what she had seen that day, naked, wet Fakir, and there was no escaping him or that glare, which became less of a glare and more of a lure. Something more seductive.

She would wake up with the oddest sensation of want and desire low, between her legs, something she knew that Fakir could fix if she asked him.

* * *

Summertime came and he had another book published. It was easier to write outside of the city, especially when she was humming behind him.

More than once he had tried to take over cleaning, but she insisted.  _ It gives me something to do.  _ She smiled, a real smile, a happy smile, at him, and in the morning she would tell him where she would be cleaning. 

She did this, he assumed, so she wouldn’t bother him and his writing, but whatever room she was in, he was there.

Today she was in the study, so he sat at his desk. 

She hummed, whatever she listened to, he didn’t care, if he had to choose her humming over a sixty piece orchestra, he would choose her.

There was something about it that set him at ease, it was low and pleasing, and sometimes she would sing under her breath. She was no star, and he was sure she’d be embarrassed if she knew he was listening, but that didn’t matter.

So long as she hummed, he was content.

He tried to remember if she hummed in their first few months of marriage, the only sound he could remember were the sounds of her crying.

Sad women don’t sing. 

Today was a day where she sang, and the words came out of her lips more easily, as she went around the room. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder, reaching around him to get something, and that was the first time she willingly touched him. 

She kept humming.

* * *

It was hot, the middle of July, and she made full use of the pond that was behind their house, she had convinced him to come out with her, although he just sat at the edge of the dock with his feet in the water.

She was happy for about an hour, and then she started mindlessly floating and that got her thinking. 

She swam over to Fakir, folding her arms on the dock and resting her chin on her overlapped hands.

“Fakir, may I ask you something?” 

He closed the book - the replacement- that he brought with him and turned his eyes on her, his face softened, as it always did when he looked at her. “Of course.”

“I was just thinking…” she averted her eyes, “Why did you marry me?”

“Can I be honest?”

Ahiru wanted to nod, but it was difficult when her head was resting heavy on her hands. “Yes.” She started counting the freckles in her hand.

“Our parents knew each other, they died - all of them died - before you could remember, but I remember.” 

She turned her head back to him now.

“My dad- my father told me that it was our job to protect your family.”

“Why?”

“He told me, your family used to be nobility, and my family were sworn knights. Not anymore, not really, but my father took that seriously, he made every effort to help your family, and while they didn’t need protection, he gave them something else. Friendship.

“He made me promise that I would still protect your family, that I would always remain close.”

“But you haven’t.” She said; she knew about his family, knew from pictures of her parents standing next to his in photos that they were old friends, but their young son was a man she never met. Not until six months before their wedding.

“No, I haven’t. I lived with Charon, my godfather, and Raetsel, my sister-of-sorts, and he didn’t have the money to get me into the schools you attended, nor was I a part of the high society you were a part of. Besides, I was a child, and you had the Schwan’s to keep you company.”

“So, you married me out of duty to my family?”

“And because- because my mother, before she died, made me promise that I would always do what my heart felt was right.”

“You’re an artist, you could have married anyone.”

He nodded.

“Didn’t your heart tell you this was wrong? That you should marry for love?”

“I did marry for love.” And then he realized what he said and started blushing. “I’m sworn to protect and love your family, I heard what had happened to Mytho, and soon they were asking for suitors. Ahiru, you have to know, a lot of those men that were lining up for your hand were nothing but-“

“Sleaze balls?”

He smiled. “Not exactly how I would word it, but yes. I couldn’t let both my mother and father down.”

“You gave up love for me.” She countered, “Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“I was never planning to marry.” 

She started picking at the chipping dock, years ago it had been painted, but now it was shedding its skin. 

“Ahiru, I’m glad it was you.”

She looked up. “You were?”

He smiled, it was small, and on anyone else it would have been a neutral expression. “You’re the best wife a man could hope for.”

She blushed before diving back into the water, whenever she popped up, Fakir wasn’t reading his book, his eyes were trained on her.

* * *

He was damned, surely, cursed thrice-fold. 

He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve such punishment.

Fakir had been married for a year and a half and was just now falling in love.

Like an idiot.

It was Sunday morning, the only day he didn’t get up early, and when he did, light streaming in through the window, Ahiru clinging to him, he didn’t move.

Normally, he woke up and escaped her grasp, but today, he just laid there, perfectly happy to watch her sleep.

He had never seen her wake up before. He was gone by then.

She blinked her eyes blearily, yawning and snuggling into him deeper, still half asleep.

He brushed the hair out of her face and she hummed. 

“What time is it?” She asked. 

“Eight, do you want coffee?”

She shook her head, her arms tightened, drawing herself closer to him. 

He didn’t know what he was doing, he was just running his fingers through her hair, she still refused to open her eyes, he kissed her temple-

His eyes shot open.

He wasn’t supposed to do that. 

He wasn’t supposed to be wrapped up in her arms. 

He wasn’t supposed to be feeling so giddy.

She hadn’t seemed to notice, but he sat up and got out of bed.

“I need coffee.”

He shut the door behind him, but he didn’t notice the way she sat up, confused and shocked, he didn’t know how hurt it made her feel to be left like that.

Damn.

He wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

* * *

She always woke up alone, the other side of the bed cold. So the one time she didn’t, the one time he was there, the one time she felt like a wife, was the day he abandoned her, pulling away from her like she had burned him.

So now, as she stood in a hotel bathroom, pinning up her hair, she wondered what she would do.

She didn’t know how to feel; upset, sad, lonely, angry, bitter; resentful.

She landed on anger. 

She stabbed herself with a Bobby pin, so when she gasped in pain, he came in to check on her.

“I’m fine.”

She adjusted her dress, a color she normally didn’t wear, but it felt appropriate since the wedding was in December. 

A deep forest green, in retrospect she chose it to match Fakir’s eyes. 

It was a tight dress, the kind that was in style at the moment, it went to her knees, but she wished it was longer. 

It just made her look like a stick. On a girl with curves and a good figure, it would make sense, but on her it looked silly. 

She wrapped her hand around his arm as they walked to the wedding.

Even wearing heels, her head just barely met his jaw.

The whole time she was fuming, she should have been happy that her cousin was getting married, but she was fuming. It was so unlike her.

She sat with her legs crossed, and her arms crossed, and a rather fowl expression on her face.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t convincing, but she didn’t have to be, he didn’t ask her again. 

They went through the wedding to the reception, and as soon as she had a glass of wine in her hand she downed it. 

“Hey, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t, truly she wasn’t. 

The night went on, and she felt like she drank an entire bottle of wine. 

She was stumbling back to their room, hanging heavily on Fakir’s arm, and eventually he scooped her up. 

“Put me down.” She pushed at his chest feebly.

“Once we’re back in our room.” 

“So you can leave me again?”

He stopped, only for a second before he started up again.

She opened the door for him, and he walked up to their bed, but he didn’t put her down like she thought. He sat down, with her in his lap.

“What did you mean by that?” 

“Let me go.”

His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her close while keeping her prisoner in his arms. “Why do you think I’m going to leave you?”

“Because that’s all you do! That’s all you ever do!” She could feel tears falling down her face, angry tears, pent up rage and aggression. She wanted to beat her hands against him until he let her go. 

He brushed her hair out of her face, but she grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t. Please?” 

His hands fell from around her, freeing her.

But she didn’t move. “I didn’t want to marry you.”

“I know.” 

“I-I wanted to marry Mytho.”

“I know.”

“But I just want to be a wife!” 

He didn’t say anything to that. 

“I- I just want to be your wife.”

Her tears fell, her anger had left her and now she felt hollow inside. She leaned against him.

“I’m sorry.” He said, though  _ she  _ was sure that  _ he  _ wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. “I’ve been trying to be a better husband. I know- I know I’m not  _ him _ , but I’m trying.”

“Then… then don’t leave me.”

He put his arms around her and fell back into the bed.

This was the first time they had fallen asleep wrapped up together.

* * *

They went home and everything was… different.

She smiled more easily, but blushed when he touched her, even on accident. She woke up with him still in bed - eventually she did tell him what she meant - though that had her blushing as well.

He could look at her and she would turn away, her hand raising to cover a blush. 

Their third anniversary was coming up, then they would only have two years to consummate and conceive.

He wasn’t sure if they ever would, but that would draw their marriage into question.

The whole point of the arrangement was the issue with decreasing population and increasing divorce rates. It wasn’t law, but at this point so common it was bad luck to marry outside of an arrangement. 

They worked out in the end, Raetsel and Hans were a shining example. 

Ahiru was different, she had warmed up to him, even relished in calling herself a wife - if not his, but he wasn’t sure if she would ever come around to love him the way she loved Mytho.

He was mulling it over, staring at a blank open doc, when he heard her screaming.

He jumped up and ran to her.

She was in the middle of taking a shower when Fakir pulled back the curtain, his eyes locking with hers before they went to where she stared.

On the wall was a long-legged, spindly, black spider, slowly crawling down the wall.

He sighed in relief, before killing it with a wad of tissue. 

He looked over at her. “Don’t worry, I got it.”

She nodded slowly.

He looked away, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see  _ everything _ , he drew the curtain back.

* * *

He had gone away for the weekend for a signing, he had invited her, of course, but she told him someone had to keep the house warm.

But she should have gone with him. It was only three nights and two days, but she already missed him. 

She was alone, and she missed him. 

She was going through some bridal gifts she had been given. The kind she had gotten from friends. 

A bottle of lube, sexy undergarments, sex toys.

Things that made her blush, that she packed nicely into a box and stowed away for forever and a day.

Now she was digging through them again.

She wasn’t a fan of black, she preferred her pastels, but she lifted a piece of crumpled lingerie out of the box. It was black, and strappy, and lacey, it was a complete set: bra, panties; stockings. 

It wasn’t something that belonged on her. 

She tried it on nonetheless. 

She looked like a child.

She took her hair out of its braid, a gentle wave fell down her back and settled around her. That looked better, but something was missing. 

She slipped on a pair of black heels, she was starting to look the part.

What part? Hooker? 

She slipped into her bathroom, pulling out a tub of red lipstick she never wore, drawing on eyeliner, and swiping mascara.

Now what? All gussied up with nowhere to go.

She felt silly again, what was all that for? 

She was desirable, right? 

She groaned, and wanted to take it all off, but the door opened.

She froze.

“Ahiru?”

“Fakir?” She squeaked. “You’re not supposed to be back yet.”

He was sitting in the bed, his back to her, taking off his shoes.

She turned the lights of the bathroom off. 

“I missed my wife. And what are you doing in the dark?”

She flushed. “I’m- uh!”

Playing dress up? 

“I missed you.” She said. 

He got up off the bed and went over to the bathroom. 

“Can I turn the light on?”

“No.”

“I came back early to see you.”

That made her feel warm. “I wanted to see you too.” She admitted. “It’s weird, I don’t think we’ve ever been apart since we got married.”

“No, we haven’t.” He agreed, he crossed his arms and leaned against the door jam. “Why are you in the dark?”

She bit her lip. “So you won’t see me?” 

“I see you everyday. C’mere.” 

“No.” She said again, walking away, determined to at least wash the makeup off, but her heels clicked in the dark. 

“Why are you wearing heels? Were you going to go out?” He asked, “Pique and Lillie make plans?”

“No.” She said, trying to find her makeup wipes. 

“I’m turning the light on so you can see,”

“Wait, no!” But it was too late, she turned around just in time to see a teasing smirk fall from his lips.

His eyes got dark, his pupils dilated, she heard him swallow. 

She was a deer in headlights, all her dreams were coming true as that deep, lustful glare, that wasn’t quite a glare, was on her and he looked like he wanted to devour her. 

“Who’s- who’s that for?” He sounded strained, like it hurt to speak.

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “No one. It was a wedding gift.”

He started walking towards her, his eyes left her face and trailed down the rest of her body, making her squirm, making her lift a leg to try and cover the other. 

“I- I never.” She stammered

Her back hit the sink.

“Ideally, we should have used it on our wedding night.” 

He was right in front of her, his attention on her red lips.

“I missed you.” She said, tilting her chin up, still too short. He picked her up, and sat her on the counter, and he came between her legs.

“You missed me that much?” He was closer than he had ever been before, his lips brushing against hers. 

His hands rested on her thighs, and she couldn’t decide if this was a mistake or not. 

Married for three years and she was still a virgin.

She pressed her mouth up against his. 

* * *

He was sick and tired of Autor at this point, he was tired of being bossed around, and he missed his wife. If he was being honest, he saw her every time he closed his eyes. It made sleeping impossible because he couldn’t reach out to her and hold her the way he had grown accustomed to. 

He called Autor and told him he was leaving.

“What! You can’t!”

“The signing is over, I don’t have any obligations outside of that.” The phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder as he folded clothes. 

Would she be happy to see him? 

Or was she enjoying her free time? 

“That is unacceptable! You can’t do this!”

“I can. I called the office and they said it was fine.”

Autor sighed, and Fakir could tell he was pinching the bridge of his nose, dislodging his glasses. He muttered a curse under his breath. “Fine, but the next time we go out for a signing, you are staying the whole time.”

“Sure.” 

Fakir hung up and prepared for a long drive back. 

Should he get her flowers? 

He could get her her favorites, yellow peonies. 

She’d like that. 

A five minute delay later, he had the flowers in the passenger seat beside him. 

He got home and the house was dark, perhaps she was already asleep. He went upstairs to their room, and the lights were on, he smiled, at least he could say good night. 

“Ahiru?”

He put the flowers down on her nightstand. He looked over his shoulder and now she was standing in the dark, his lone nightstand lamp not enough to cast any light over her. He stood and walked over to her. 

He wanted to hold her as close as he could, kiss her temple, and when he got closer, she looked fearful.

The way she did on their wedding night. 

She didn’t let him turn on the lights, and he wouldn’t have, but as she walked away he heard heels. 

He wasn’t suspicious, Ahiru was an adult, if she had just come back from a night on the town, that was fine, what he was worried about was why she wouldn’t let him see her. 

He turned on the lights and he wished he hadn’t.

He had seen her in tight dresses, in dresses that were dangerously short, in her swimsuit, and he had seen her naked, but he had never seen her like this. 

He couldn’t take it, the abstinence they had placed over their marriage, and he would always wait for her to be ready, but God  _ he  _ was so ready. 

He lifted her up on the counter, the flesh of her thighs under his hands softer than anything he had ever touched, his thumb circling over the sheer stockings and her flesh. 

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this to her, despite how tight his pants were getting, despite the fact that he had been with her for three years, the sexual frustration building underneath his skin, he couldn’t do this to her. 

Everything changed when she kissed him, and that broke the dam. 

A hand snaked around her neck, pulling her closer, his lips moving against hers in a way that would leave bruises. 

He felt her hands clawing at his chest, her legs clamping around his waist, her lips moving with as much fervor as his did. He felt more than heard the whimpers that came from the back of her throat. 

“Ahiru, please.” He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes, boring into her soul. “Come to bed with me.”

He didn’t have to wait long, soon a breathy “yes” passed her lips. 

He kissed her again, and he felt as if he was going to be burnt alive. His hands wrapped around her thighs and picked her up, for the first time they were equal height and kissing her was the easiest thing he had ever done. 

They had kissed before, briefly, at their wedding, it was chaste and short lived, mostly for show. 

He wondered if he should have kissed her sooner, because now as his mouth moved against hers, as his tongue pushed past her lips, it was the most intoxicating thing he had ever tasted, had ever done. 

He pulled away, breathing hard, as he set her on the edge of their bed, he knelt before her, moving away from her mouth to kiss her jaw, down her throat, to her collar bone, his tongue swiping out to taste her skin. 

Her legs were still wrapped around him, her knee slipping up his side, her hands diving into his hair to keep him there; close to her, she was mumbling something - or nothing - into his hair. 

Her hands were traveling down his sides, untucking his shirt and starting to undo his buttons. 

Fakir pulled away, tugging off her shoes and the stockings, he touched her calf, trailing his fingers up her leg to her thigh. He looked up at her, she blushed prettily, appearing timid, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he came back to her lips, a sigh left them as he did. 

He pushed her back onto the bed, until he hovered over her, he lifted a strand of hair, letting it run over his hands. 

“Ahiru, I was supposed to come back tomorrow, why did you put this on?”

Her mouth parted, and she averted her gaze, “I-I wanted to know what it would feel like… to-to look desirable.” She admitted. 

“You’ve succeeded.” He tells her, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips, long and sweet, not the searing kisses from before. “But I have to tell you something, you’ve always looked desirable to me.”

He tilts his head, to deepen the kiss, he sucks on her bottom lip, running the tip of his tongue over it and biting it before releasing her. He’s kissing her jaw and her neck, biting and sucking where he saw fit. 

Her hands are on him, and he doesn’t mind what they’re doing - fluttering across his exposed chest, over his arms and shoulders - it's only when his lips are on her breast, and he bites, that she shudders, gasping, her nails racking down his back. He smirks and kisses the bitemark. 

“Fakir, I-I…”

He didn't answer, his hand had snaked its way under her back to unlatch the black bra.

“I want you.”

He lifted her up to take it off and slide it off her arms. 

“I need you, Fakir, please.” 

He sat back up, soaking her in, staring without shame. 

Laid out underneath him, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and she raised her arms to cover herself. 

“Don’t.” He says, in that same strained voice. His hands on her thighs slowly and painstakingly move up her body, his thumbs toying with the hem of the last piece of clothing that hides her from him, her stomach quivers under his touch, and he stops just before he touches her breasts. “May I?”

He looks up at her, and he doesn't miss the way she shivers before she nods.

His hands are on her breasts in an instant, and they fit in the palm of his hands like they were made for him. 

He watches as she throws her head back, her mouth open in a silent moan. 

He rubs his thumbs in circles over her nipples, and she presses her chest into his hands. Fakir drops one hand to his side. 

“Don’t stop-”

He cuts her off when his mouth latches on, sucking the pert nipple and drawing a moan from her. He swathes his tongue over her, he bites as his hand twists and pinches, he watches her writhe under him, and a hand dips down between her legs, teasing at her through the fabric, and God, she’s already soaking wet. 

He switches his mouth to her other breast, lifting his hand to attend to the other, he draws slow circles between her legs, pushing gently inside of her. 

_ Be gentle. _

Words spoken thousands of years ago. 

He pushes aside the fabric to touch her skin, dripping and waiting for him. 

He dips one finger inside of her, his eyes shooting up when a new noise escapes her throat, and the more he pumps in and out of her, the louder the noises become, she mewls, she pants, she’s squirming under him. 

He adds a second finger and her legs wrap around him, she cries out his name. 

He adds a third, and presses his thumb to her clit, and suddenly she shoots up, grabbing his face and wrenching his mouth from her breast. Her lips attack his, and she’s arching into him as he keeps a steady pace. 

“I need-” She breaks away and his lips fasten to the other side of her neck and shoulder. “I need you, Fakir.  _ Please.” _

He nodded against her skin, and too eagerly removed the last piece of clothing, before detaching himself fully so he could remove the pants that he still wore, that grated against burning skin. 

She was on her knees beside him, kissing his neck and shoulders, not making it any easier.

She was distracted as he reached for a tissue to wipe the blood from his fingers.

Fakir placed a knee on the bed, between her legs, and grabbed her thighs. 

“Are you… are you sure about this?” He swallowed hard, she was never meant to marry him, how could he expect her to give everything to him? 

She nodded. “I want you. Only you.” 

He pushed her back on the bed. 

* * *

Fakir watched her with dark eyes, that look she had seen in her dreams, the look she longed for to be real. He cupped her cheek, brushing the hair out of her face as he hovered over her. 

He was naked, just the way he was supposed to be, his hand gliding over her thigh to the back of her knee, holding it up higher. He kissed her again, promising her he would be gentle as he lowered himself inside of her. 

She gasped, not because it hurt, but because he was much larger than his three fingers had accommodated for, much longer than his fingers had been able to reach, and she felt filled. 

He was slow, he waited for her permission before he drew out of her and came back in. 

Her lips, her jaw, her throat were claimed by his mouth as he set an excruciating pace. 

Faster, she begged and he picked it up, she lifted her hips, trying to meet his.

Harder, she moaned into his ear, and he complied. 

She wondered if this is what their wedding night would have been like, blinding pleasure, if she hadn’t been so terrified of his touch. She wondered if the past three years were wasted because she was a coward. 

His hands were on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin hotly to help them both as he pounded into her over and over again, making the bed rattle. She lifted her legs to lock around his waist, and that shifted her, and he went in deeper. 

He reached between them, his thumb rubbing against her again as his hips pummeled hers. 

Everything was building now, all the desire and wanting and longing, pooling between her legs, drawn out by Fakir, and for a moment it was too much, her mouth opened to beg him to stop, but she let out a shuddering moan as it all came down around her. 

Her legs fell from his waist, and he kept going, but not for long, soon he shuddered too and collapsed on top of her. 

He wrapped his arms around her, and rolled onto his back, taking her with him, still inside of her. 

She could have gone to sleep then and there, on top of his chest, in a dizzying happiness she didn’t know existed. 

But he made her get up and go to the bathroom, when she came out he was changing the bed sheets, he walked past her where she leaned in the doorway, caressing her jaw as he went. 

He drew her a bath, and she sat down on the counter, her legs feeling like jelly. 

She made him join her in the bath, sitting between his legs and leaning her back against his chest, perks of a little rich girl, she could afford a big enough tub for two.

He washed her hair and ran over her body with a bar of soap, but she turned in the bath, sat on her knees and washed his hair too. She grinned as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch as she massaged shampoo into his hair. 

They fell asleep in their bed with their fresh sheets, Ahiru’s head tucked under his chin, and his arms wrapped around her, drawing her in as close as possible.

Everything would be different now.

* * *

He asked her if she was ready for a child, her back pressed into his chest, an arm lazily resting on her waist. 

They were in their fourth year, and even Charon had given him a call about it. 

“I want children.” She admitted. “I want to have your children.”

His lazy arm became stronger, more possessive, and he drew her closer. “You do?”

“Mmhmm.” She yawned. “I was prepared to start having children as soon as I was married, it’ll be up to you when you want to start.” 

He would be thirty soon, his father was twenty three when he had his first - and only - son. 

“We can start trying.” He kissed the shell of her ear. 

* * *

She dropped the phone and started crying when she received the call, Fakir had heard and came rushing to her, drawing her into his lap and cradling her head. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Mytho’s awake.” 

* * *

Fakir had never met Mytho, his family connections to Ahiru’s ended there, Mytho’s family may have been family friends of hers, but that is where the association stopped.

Fakir stood in a dark corner, watching Ahiru as she sat on the edge of the bed, talking with Mytho. 

It was hard to believe he was awake, much less alive. 

According to Ahiru, Mytho took the news of her marrying another man pretty well, but Fakir doubted that. 

Mytho was polite, keeping his hands to himself, but a seed of jealousy was already planted in Fakir’s heart. 

When he took her home, he pressed her against a wall, kissing her fiercely, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist, and she followed his lead, locking her ankles to secure her hold as he grinded into her on the wall. 

“You’re mine.” He growled into her ear and bit her earlobe, which drew a pleasant sound from her throat. 

Her hands were unbuttoning his shirt and taking out his belt. 

The trip to their bed took a while only because he was intent on kissing her and not letting her go.

He made quick work of their clothes, and threw her on the bed, lifting her hands above her head as he took her, and as she arched into him. Going faster with each cry of his name. 

* * *

“Stop it!” She yelled at him, and it was their first fight. 

She glared at him, and for once he turned his on her, but she wasn’t scared of him or that look, she was frustrated.

“Stop saying that!” 

Her chest heaved, and she watched as his did too. She walked forward, and took hold of his shirt collar, dragging him down so he was eye level with her. 

“I’m not leaving you!” 

“He’s awake.”

“And?” 

The anger fell from his eyes and he was hurt, there was pain there, pain she hadn’t seen before. She let go, but Fakir knelt down before her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into her stomach. 

Her hand rested on his shoulder, the other ran through his hair.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“But you love him.”

“No I don’t. Not anymore. Fakir, I won’t leave you, nothing they can do will ever make me leave you.”

His hand wormed its way under her shirt, his hand hot as it pressed into her back.

She made him stand and started taking off his clothes. He lifted his hands to help but she smacked them away. 

When they were both naked, she made him lie down on the bed, before she straddled his waist.

She bent down, her hands pressing into his stomach to help her from falling. She gave him the barest of kisses. “I will never leave you.” 

She’s gentle, kissing him, holding both his hands above his head, her chest scraping against his. She lifts away and scoots back, taking his length in her hand, she strokes him to a proper hardness before lowering herself on him. 

She shivers, and so does he, his hands shift to run up and down her thighs as she slowly raises her hips off his before coming back down. 

She starts slow, to get herself used to the position before she starts going faster. 

“Promise me.” She said, panting heavily. 

“Anything.”

“Promise me that you’ll stay by my side.”

He lifted himself up, his hand cupping the side of her face, his thumb running circles on her cheek bone as the rest of his fingers flexed in her hair. “I will stay by your side, forever.”

He kisses her. 

* * *

It was dark that night, the crescent moon offering very little light, but Fakir had brought a lantern, so he could still see her. 

They sat on the edge of the dock, wrapped up in blankets, her idea of a date night. 

She had made him dinner and dessert, before she dragged him out here to the dock, blankets thrown over her arm, and he grabbed a lantern before they left. 

It was the only thing that separated them, but she still touched his hand, opened palm up in her lap, she traced the lines with her fingers. She had something to tell him, and wouldn’t tell him what it was. 

She seemed nervous, avoiding his eyes whenever he looked at her. 

He chuckled. “What is it?” He reached forward, brushing a knuckle against her cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“I have good news and really good news.” She said, looking up at him through her lashes. “Which would you like to hear first?”

“Mm, good news.”

She smiled, a little relieved. “Mytho’s getting married, to a woman named Rue. She was married to someone else but he passed away a year into their marriage. She’s twenty six. She’s… actually an old friend of mine.”

Fakir nodded. A little satisfied that Mytho was no longer a problem. “And the really good news?”

She smiled and looked away again. She pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. “I’m pregnant.” 

“You are?”

She nodded. “I am.”

He reached out to hug her, the lantern falling to the side, he swept her up into his lap and kissed her temple, her blushing cheeks, the corner of her lip, wherever he could reach. 

“Ahiru, I love you.”

She relaxed into his chest, tilting her head up to see him. “I love you, too.”

He kissed her fully on the mouth, unaware when the lantern finally rolled off the edge of the dock leaving them in darkness. 

* * *

She was invited to Mytho’s wedding but politely declined, she thought it would be for the best, but blamed her delicate situation. 

Her belly was bigger than she thought it would be, and it was recommended by her doctor to stay in bed, try to not work too much. 

Ahiru understood that to mean not to overexert herself, but Fakir took it literally, and anything he had the ability to do, he did it for her. 

She was able to convince him to take her for walks everyday, to get fresh air and exercise, and despite her aching back and swollen feet, she liked the feeling of being outside, embracing the wind, the feel of Fakir’s hand in her own as they walked. 

She liked laying in bed as well, if just for the fact that Fakir would talk to the baby, he would lay his head on her stomach, and she would play with his hair, as he told their child stories. 

She wondered, just for a moment, if she would have been this deliciously happy if she had married Mytho, if he would love her with as much passion as Fakir had, if the arrangement with Mytho would have been filled with this much love or friendship. 

Ahiru had loved Mytho, the way a girl who doesn’t understand love fully loves someone, a first love, the kind that, at the time, felt so strong and overpowering, but in hindsight, felt like child's play to the emotions that filled her heart. 

Ahiru loved Fakir unconditionally, in a way she had never loved before; truly and wholeheartedly. He felt like home and an adventure all at once, he filled her days with delight and tranquility. 

More so, she could never be able to fully describe the depths of her emotions, not perfectly, not completely. There would always be an adjective missing, or an emotion so complicated she simply couldn’t put it into words. 

And she knew, somehow, without ever being told or having it explained to her, that Fakir felt the same, too. The emotions too personal and too private to give a proper name. She knew it by the way he looked at her, the small smile, the gentlest of touches to touch her lips or brush back her hair; she knew it in the way they could talk for hours, but sit in complete silence as well, that whenever they fought, they worked it out together. She knew it just by the way he held her hand. 

They were a mistake, brought together via an accident, a swift arrangement, that should have been ill fit. 

But he was the best mistake that ever happened to her. 


End file.
